CHAPTER XIV.

Departure of the sun—Lyfcets of durkness on doys-—Winter arrangements in
the interior of the “ Dolphin.”

T is sad to part with an old friend, especially if he

be one of the oldest and best friends we ever

had. When the day of departure arrives, it is of no

avail that he tells us kindly he will come back again.

That assurance is indeed a comfort after he is gone,

and a sweet star of hope that shines brighter and

brighter each day until he comes back ; but it is poor

consolation to us at the time of parting, when we are

squeezing his hand for the last time, and trying to
crush back the drops that will overflow.

The crew of the Dolphin had, in the course of that
winter, to part with one of their best friends; one
whom they regarded with the most devoted attach-
ment; one who was not expected to return again
till the following spring, and one, therefore, whom
some of them might, perhaps, never see again.

Mivins became quite low-spirited about it, and said
“as ‘ow ’e’d ’ave a ’eavy ’eart for lever and lever,
amen,” after he was gone. O'Riley remarked, in
reference to his departure, that every man in the ship